Portrait of A Witch
by Nimbus 1944
Summary: Hermione gains insight to life in the peculiar world of charmed paintings.


**Portrait of A Witch**

_"And when I found the door was locked,  
I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.  
And when I found the door was shut,  
I tried to turn the handle, but —"_  
There was a long pause.  
"Is that all?" Alice timidly asked.  
"That's all, " said Humpty Dumpty. "Good-bye."

- Carroll, _Through the Looking Glass_

Hermione sat as still as she could, smiling.

Once or twice a minute, the old man would glance at her, assess her, and return to his work.

It seems the Muggle art of oil painting could move no faster in the hands of a wizard if quality work was to be done. Even in Hogsmeade, sometimes the old-fashioned way was the best. He peered around his easel board to take another mental measurement. "So, Miss Granger, have you ever sat for your portrait before?"

"Yes, sir, when I was four. I sat in the garden for Muggle photographs, actually, because I was too fidgety at that age to pose long! Later, the artist made a painting from them. My parents have it hanging in the upstairs corridor. Obviously, it's quite outdated now."

"A typical portrait of childhood and innocence! And now, for contrast, a 'Portrait of A Witch as A Young Woman.' I'm hoping to capture the wisdom that I see in your eyes."

Hermione snickered while maintaining her pose. "And capture the generous sweet-talk I hear in my ears! If I have laugh lines, Oscar, it's from laughing at the stupid mistakes I've made, whenever I assumed I had so much wisdom."

"Your wisdom's lasted you this long, dearie. You have more in the way of laugh lines than worry lines, and plenty of time for more mistakes."

"And I'll make them, no doubt. Before I forget — I see you also do miniatures. Could I get a cameo of this sitting as well?"

"I see no problem. After I finish the portrait, I'll do as your Muggle artist did — photograph it and work from that. Miniatures are slow work with very fine brushes, though, and will take a while to finish."

"That would be fine. It would be for a special friend, next Christmas."

"I should be able to schedule it between other projects. You'll have it in time for Christmas."

-o-

While sunning on the grounds at Hogwarts, Hermione was interrupted by the return of a familiar barn owl. "Hi, Doctor Whoo," she greeted him, "what do you have for me?"

It was a letter from her mum, mostly hometown chatter. Mrs. Granger asked how the portrait was coming along, and about happenings at school. She also commented on communications in the wizarding world —

_I hope we never have an emergency at home, so that we'd need to get in touch with you right off. I'm jealous of your owlery full of messengers, just waiting to serve you! As you can understand, there's no owl here, waiting for us to write, and you only hear from us when this owl arrives with your posts. In a rush, I would have to stand in front of your "Leaky Cauldron" to inveigle a customer to carry a note through. Dear me, hardly proper! After a thousand years, why doesn't they have an established method for Muggle posts "swimming upstream" to the school?_

Hermione smirked. That was a problem. She needed to write Mum more often, so that an owl would stop at home every few days.

_It's almost funny,_ she thought. _The people in the charmed portraits can flit to Sussex in an instant to deliver a message, as long as there's another painting of them down there. Maybe I should hang one of the old Headmasters at home! He could carry messages faster than the owls, and originating at either end! _

For that matter, I wonder --

What if I were to charm one of my own portraits -- so I have a Hermione-image who can dependably carry messages back and forth between home and school? That could be most helpful! If it proved inadvisable somehow, I could just remove the charm, with no harm done. Hmmm!

Being independent and self-confident, Hermione was sure she could do it on her own, once the new painting was ready.

Her well-worn copy of Bagshot's _History of Magic_ gave her the background:

Animated wizard portraiture began in England (1065)  
with a charm concocted by Catherine of Broadstone,  
labeled in Muggle history as the "Witch of Berkeley".  
Confessing to witchery charges, she offered to stay in  
a chained coffin for several days, so that any "devils"  
would leave her, thus to escape execution. Extremely  
bored during her confinement, she kept a small diary  
by wand-light, developing her idea for the charm. She  
was discharged from all accusations for surviving her  
challenge, and went back to tending her family. There-  
after, she perfected her charm by animating a portrait  
of her late father. Thanks to that discovery, we have  
charmed portraits of wizards of her era, including the  
Four Founders of Hogwarts. For a Muggle version of  
this odd incident, see William of Malmesbury's _Recent  
History_ (c.1142), the second volume of his "Chronicle  
of the Kings of England." For the animating charm, see  
M. Goshawk, _Standard Book of Spells — Advanced:  
Extraordinary Incantations Of Expert Practitioners._

Goshawk's university-level book not only had the wording, but an illustration of Catherine's father. suitable for basic practise of the charm. Those were just what Hermione needed at the moment. After a day or so, she was able to activate him. He was decidedly unhappy, and began muttering something in Anglo-Saxon, which if translated would probably be about Goshawk's readers repeatedly waking him from the dead. She removed the charm, then tried again several times to be sure.

By now, her new portrait was complete. Once trained up for her experiment, Hermione faced the painting, propped up against the wall in an unused broom cupboard one evening. Sunset faded to darkness as she sat, looking at it, thinking about what she was going to do, over and over, looking for any loose ends that might cause trouble. She couldn't see where a Hermione-image could do any harm, or bring her ridicule, or cost points. She took a deep breath, aimed her wand carefully, and hurled Catherine's ancient and well-practised Anglo-Saxon incantation: _"Brucan lifwynn!" _

Whereupon, something happened that her wisdom had not foreseen.

-o-

"Well! What have we here?"

She sighed. The voice in the dark was the occupant of one of the portraits, wandering through. She could barely see him in the dark. A fine time for a visitor!

"This portrait's a bit busy at the moment," she said. "Who are you?"

"Phineas Nigellus Black, and the last time I looked, as a Headmaster emeritus, I was allowed to question students. As I was saying?"

"Sorry, Headmaster. I'm Hermione Granger. I was just experimenting with a charm..."

"Any explanation for this intrusion?"

"Intrusion? This is my portrait, thank you!"

"Gently, Miss Granger. I was merely curious as to what was happening here."

"Pardon my bothering you, sir. The charm will be gone in a minute."

"You're going where?"

"Well, I'm going to uncharm it and go to the Great Hall for dinner. Where would you expect me to go?"

"I'm not even sure how you got here."

"I walked down the corridor a few yards. What's..."

"No. I mean, on this side."

"On this side? Oh, for pity's sake, what a mad conversation! I've got the portrait in a cupboard. Let me show you. _Lumos maxima!_" Her wand shed light on the room — and on her situation.

Simply said, Hermione found herself on the inside of the portrait, looking out.

Phineas, standing next to her, let her sit open-mouthed for a moment before proceding. "By what stellar method did you manage this trick?" he asked.

"The charm of Catherine of Broadstone, sir. It's been around for a thousand years. I just had my portrait painted, and since there's another one at my parents' home, I thought I'd..."

"Or didn't think," he interrupted. "A charm done well is carried out, regardless of whether it's the _proper_ thing to do — 'Your wish is our command', as it were."

"I know. But Goshawk didn't cite any cautions or anomolies. How did this happen?"

"There's a first time for any blunder, even if it's the first time in a thousand years. Catherine's charm was intended to animate portraits of the _dead,_ not the living! Shouldn't that go without saying, young lady? In your case, apparently not. In the bullish act of infusing your portrait with life, it would appear you've extracted yourself from your earthly existance."

"I'm _dead?_"

"Let's not leap to that conclusion yet. Perhaps not irreversibly dead, but your situation does seem right dire at the moment, wouldn't you say — or haven't you reached that conclusion yet? Do you see yourself on the other side of the frame?"

"No..."

"And do you have a perfect plan up your sleeve for exiting the portrait world, now that you're here?"

Hermione grimaced. "Humpty Dumpty's door..."

"Eh?"

"Nothing. Let me think. Couldn't I do a simple _finire incantatum_ to end the charm?"

"Perhaps — but are you certain that it will return you to the other side? If you simply disappear from here, and nothing more, you'll have no existance left. That would ruin your day, no doubt."

"Oh... You're right, sir, I don't know what that charm would do."

"Then let's not be hasty. Take care before choosing your next brilliant move. Look where your last move's got you! Fear not; I'll report your little problem at the Headmaster's office, and..."

"No, please no! Let's not. It would be terribly embarrassing if it took them a long time to find the proper charm, or if I had to sit in a frame for months while 400 students ogled me and laughed. First, let me ask you what you know about the nature of the paintings and .."

"No. First, let me give you time to gather your senses, while I return home for a few blissful hours of sleep. I'll find you in the morning to continue this conversation. Good night."

-o-

During that unnerving night, Hermione did not care to wander about the school through the other paintings; she'd only raise a fuss.

Remembering her original intention, she wondered how to visit her childhood portrait at home, Now that she was on this side, the method came to her quite naturally, as though she had always known it, and as simple as turning a page in a book. If she just did _this..._

...and in a moment, she was at home. The scene around her was not the upstairs corridor, where the childhood painting was usually hung. The Granger's house interior was being repainted; her portrait was temporarily in the loft. Apparently it was in a stack of frames, and facing the portrait was a large mirror. She would bother no one at this end of her journey, either.

By wand-light, she could look out and see herself — at age four. This portrait had always been teasingly smiling, but tonight, she looked very small, and very worried about her future. Hermione trembled.

Sleep came, restless and confused.

_"Paintings are talking now?" said Humpty Dumpty in her nightmare. "What cheek! This shan't be allowed. I must tell the Queen that the paintings are revolting!" _

"I don't find them revolting at all," said little Hermione-Alice. "In fact, they're rather nice."

"But people in paintings are merely the subjects. Subjects of the Queen, of course! If they are allowed to move and talk on their own, they are no longer subjective, so they must be objective. And the Queen will object!"

"Escaping is my objective," murmured Hermione.

"Escapades indeed. If these paintings are now motion pictures, next they will want an Oscar!"

"They'll have to accept a Bafta instead, as Oscar is busy painting."

"Paintings should be scene and not heard."

"What a mad conversation! I want to be heard!" whined little Hermione, in tears.

"Then you have a heard instinct."

"Heaven help me, why can't I find my way out of this place?

_Oh, I'd soon escape the terror  
of looking at a mirror  
and free myself from harm!  
I'd be free, out, and flying,  
And without this thought of dying,  
If I only had a charm!_

_I want to be myself again. I don't want to live in a loft and be four!" _

"Before you get such lofty ideas, you must learn to be quiet, child, 'cos at your age, being heard can be objectionable!"

A bull peered around the wall. "Did someone object to a bull?" he inquired.

"No," outquired Humpty Dumpty, "just to being heard."

"And why would you object to a herd?"

"I will not be cowed, bull. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I am a bull. I am allowed to butt in and ask questions."

"You don't belong here. This is a painting, not a china shop! No one has painted a bull in this scene. One might paint bulls-eyes, of course..."

"But, I would not want my eyes painted. How could I see?"

"Butt me no butts, bull. You're missing the point."

"The point is, the little girl says she doesn't belong here. She's been framed!"

"No, she's here because she isn't charming. Being heard is wrong in this instance."

"But, she wants to be heard, and I like being herd. Be a good egg and let her out."

"Bull!"

"Yes?"

-o-

"Life's not terribly stimulating on this side," sighed Phineas. "Oh, we sleep, we observe, we converse. But, as a whole, we are not intellectually satisfied each day. We are, after all, scholars! We cannot tour the countryside freely, as we might wish. We can visit around any building where our portraits hang, but nowhere else. That's fine if you're, say, Queen Victoria with your visage all over the Empire, but how many portraits of Phineas Nigellus Black do you reckon there are? Exactly two."

"But, look at all the paintings!" replied Hermione. "Hogwarts has hundreds and hundreds! You could visit a different person every day. There must be many topics to discuss —"

"And instead, they gossip and natter. When old Nicholas Flamel finally died, how much I looked forward to having his painting hang here! Oh, the conversations we could have had! But he left specific instructions that he wanted no charmed portraits, so he'd be at peace. A shame, really."

"You must have friends here. After all, you were Headmaster."

"One of the worst Headmasters, from what they tell me. I'm not considered the most genial resident. They seem to think the Black family steered me into that job for their own benefit. In the end, I did nothing for the family and less for the students. What could I do, when no one considered me competent on my own? So yes, I do visit the others, but many don't prefer my company. And, of course, there are no books to read on this side..."

"I can empathise with that," said Hermione. "I'm starved for a book!"

"And as a whole, starved for the life out there, I'm sure. Then you might appreciate my current interest in your arrival."

She hesitated. "I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"Pardon if I'm being too forward, but... have you considered... staying?"

"No And why would you want me to stay?"

"When the Headmaster doesn't need my help, I wander about, and I've seen you, so often. You're racing after knowledge, poring over books in the library or carrying them with you at all hours. You might not be fully trained yet, but I see you as an intellectual equal, and I think you'd be a fine companion, particularly one who has read and retained so much."

"Thank you for that. I appreciate your intellect as well, Professor, and I hope you're applying it to help me find an escape route."

"Of course, but I was considering your future if we should not find a way out -- and please feel free to call me Phineas."

Again, she paused to consider her answer. "I will, Phineas, and you can call me Hermione, and thank you for all your help you're offering me. I'm sure you'd make a good friend if I had to stay here. But, please understand. For the moment, I'm a bit fixated. I desperately want the Exit door, not a cosy cottage for settling down in the happy village of Hogwarts-on-Canvas."

"I see. Yes, English determination in a Gryffindor! 'Never give in, never give in' and all that — no matter how hopeless. Very well, I'll respect that, Hermione."

-o-

Hermione had brought Phineas to the Granger loft, to a painting that he could not have visited alone. He sat on a garden bench in an outdoors scene, looking through the frame at the mirror. While here, his new acquaintance had the form of a lonely, frightened little four-year-old girl. She felt it safe to curl up in his lap, and together they faced the mirror, sadly, in silence.

"I'm becoming depressed about this," she finally said, in a child's voice. "There is no crossover point, is there?"

"I'm afraid not. Once the paint dries, and the charm is applied, we're here to stay."

"Then, I have to face it. I'm stuck here for .." Little Hermione paused in thought, her eyes darting around. "Wait! Phineas, you're brilliant! You may have done it! Yes!" The excited girl was fidgety with joy, bouncing in his lap.

"Wh... what did I say?"

"Provided just what you promised... intellectual stimulation. Hang on again!" And she took his hand and transported them out of the Granger loft...

... and tumbling into another darkened room.

"Sorry," she said in the deeper voice of her older self, crawling out of his lap. "Oh, I hope this is it!"

"Where are we?" asked Phineas.

"If we're lucky, it's where I got myself in trouble. And maybe, just maybe, where I can get myself out."

"Which is?"

"I'll show you. _Lumos maxima._"

The outer world only glowed back. They seemed to be looking at a reflection of her wand-light on a curved surface.

"Yesss!" hooted Hermione.

He was not so excited; the glow meant nothing to him. "And, we're looking at...?"

"I didn't know what to expect in this view, but this is logical. I'd wager it's the lens of a magnifying glass."

"I don't understand...?"

"I asked the artist in Hogsmeade to also make a cameo of my sitting. He kept a photo of my portrait — the one I arrived through — and he's painting the miniature. If he hasn't finished, I'll try to escape when the paint's wet. That's the best crossover, the point when that world and this are closest."

"It's never been done, Hermione. Again, there's no guarantee that you can end an animating charm from this side of the frame."

"My lumos charm works here. No, I don't know what it will do, but as you once reminded me, there's a first time for every blunder."

"Don't worry. I'll stay, and be with you if..."

"Phineas, when I do this, I'll have to be alone. At best, I'll exit and uncharm my images; at worst, I may just stop existing altogether. Either way, you don't want to be in a frame if I drain it of all its animation. I'll take you back to Hogwarts now, where you'll be safe. Hold tight..."

...and they were back in her portrait in the Hogwarts broom cupboard.

"It might be a few hours until Oscar, the artist, starts work. I'll send word to let you know how I make out, no matter what happens."

"I'll wait in my office. Godspeed, Hermione Granger. Too bad you couldn't stay longer."

"Take care, Phineas. Don't breathe too much fire when you're correcting us, now!"

"Oh, I have to. It's my nature... and my job."

"Well, then, have at it, Headmaster, and we'll just have to take our just desserts." She gave him a kiss. "Bye!"

"Wizard luck to you. Goodbye, fair lady."

She stayed in her portrait to catch a nap, and wait. It was a scary venture, and she had gone over it in her mind many times.

She was awakened with the distant crowing of Hagrid's rooster and the first glimmers of sunlight in the broom cupboard outside the frame. _We die at dawn_, she thought ruefully.

-o-

When her watch told her it was shop hours at Oscar's, she nervously returned to her uncompleted cameo on the workbench. In the light of day, the magnifying glass showed an out-of focus studio and little else. She could hear Oscar bustling about, handling a customer visit, answering the squawk of an arriving owl and humming to himself as he worked on other paintings. She had to be patient. He might not work on it today. For that matter; thanks to her instructions, he might wait until it was almost Christmas!

But luck was with her. At late morning, an oil lamp on the workbench was put aside, and Oscar settled onto his stool. He opened a new vial of paint, gathered his fine brushes, and finally leaned over the magnifying glass to view his work in progress.

She waved and shouted. "Oscar! Can you hear me?"

He was taken aback, but as a wizard artist, he was familiar with charmed portraits.

"Miss Granger! What are you doing in there? What is this magic?"

"It's a long story, but you're my last hope to get out of here."

He took out his wand. "Is there a charm?"

"No, no, I'll do that from in here. I need you to start work. I'm guessing that I need wet paint on my image. Please, start painting me!"

"Oh. Well, it's a bit soon, but I'll add highlight to your face, if that will do. Just a moment while I mix it. Then, you must explain when you get a chance."

"If it works, I'll take you to lunch personally and explain it all. If it doesn't work — well, I'll worry about that later."

"Well, lunch! That's very inviting. Lunch is usually biscuits and tea while I keep working, and I could stand a nice restful meal at Madam Rosmerta's. Here we are, all mixed. And my four-aught brush is where? Ah, yes! All right; here goes. I hope you're not ticklish! I'm joking, as I've never painted on a portrait that's already been charmed — but can you feel the brush?"

"You know, I wasn't expecting to feel it, but yes, I feel something. A cool touch. Now's the time! Could you move the magnifying glass? Then, stand back, as I may end up on your workbench — although I may just vanish altogether."

"All right, and I'll whisper a prayer for you." He stood aside.

"Thanks. Now or never! Mum and Dad, Harry and Ron, love you." She closed her eyes, and with a hearty "_Finire incantantum!_", she waved her wand...

and felt herself falling,

hitting,

falling,

hitting...

When she came to a halt, she was afraid to open her eyes. Her first sign of life was Oscar's chortle.

"Heh! Dear, dear, Miss Granger. Now you've rolled in my cobalt blue, and have it on your nose. You can't go to lunch with me like that; it won't do. Hold still now, please, while I wipe it up— oh, NO, NO, don't do that! NO! Oh, dear! Now you see, it's all over your face and mine! Heh! There's a time and a place for everything, Miss Granger, including hugs. Hold still!"

_Inspired from the stories of Verse, ship's captain of the HMS "Arts and Letters." Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. Any resemblance of Oscar to a lively old art restorer in Connecticut by that name is purely in spirit._


End file.
